


Cycle of a Broken Heart

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Advice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Heartbreak, Post-Break Up, Sibling Bonding, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: "Whether due to age or experience, she was unsure, but the mending of a broken heart would prove unnecessary here. She'd learned the difference between infatuation and love, crocodile tears and real ones; between a boy and a man."*RE-POST/MINOR EDITING





	Cycle of a Broken Heart

**Cycles of a Broken Heart**

 

 

“Sash, I know you're in there, you may as well open the door.” Malia Obama, home on a break from her first semester at Harvard, stood outside the door to her younger sister's bedroom. Though she'd arrived a mere few moments earlier, their mother had given her oldest a condensed version of all the happenings of her sister's life she had missed over the phone the previous evening.

 

 

“Go away.” Sasha's voice was muffled, and as she pressed an ear to the outside of the locked wooden door, Malia was certain she could make out a string of sniffles, movement she guessed to be the wiping away of tears.

 

 

“Nope, not going anywhere!” she countered, voice loud and stern to let the other know she meant business. “You're stuck with me for a while before I have to leave again. I'll sit here all night if I have to.”

 

 

Mattress springs creaked and light footsteps became louder as the younger of the two – grumbling incoherently – made her way closer to her side of the door.

 

 

“I hate you,” she said in annoyance as she unlocked and slowly opened it, peeking her head out.

 

 

“No you don't,” Malia responded easily, rolling her eyes and waving a hand dismissively through the air. “You love me.”

 

 

“I love that unopened pint of ice cream in your hand even more.” Young eyes ogled the container appreciatively, but morphed into slits when she reached for the spoon her older sister clutched in the opposite hand and it was dangled tauntingly out of reach.

 

 

“Not until you let me in,” Malia told her, trying not to laugh at the frustration etched on her face, proud of herself for having been able to coax her out of bed.

///

 

“So, you gonna tell me what's wrong or do I have to sit here watching you throw that bean bag at the wall while you mope around all night long?”

 

 

Malia was lying sprawled out across the soft down of Sasha's bright pink comforter, sock clad feet crossed over each other while she flipped hastily through an old issue of Vogue magazine.

 

 

“I don't wanna talk about it,” she mumbled, whipping the beanie bag hard enough to make her sister jump and wonder silently if she'd left a dent in the wall.

 

 

“I figured you'd say that,” Malia said. “You should know though that Mum already told me what happened.”

 

 

“I told her not to!” Sasha responded angrily, looking toward Malia with fire and ice laced together in her eyes. “This is why I hate talking to her about these things. She tells you and Dad _everything._ ”

 

 

“I wouldn't say everything,” the other responded softly, sitting up and shuffling closer to her sibling. “She only does it because she worries about you. Did the same with me when I was your age.”

 

 

“She doesn't need to worry.”

 

 

Malia retrieved the small, cloth, bean filled sack – which Sasha had let bounce off the wall and fall limply onto the covers, finally deciding not to pick it up – and started tossing it absent mindedly into the air and catching it. “Well, since you've locked yourself in your room to brood and barely eaten anything the last few days, I'd say she has more than a little to be concerned about.”

 

 

“I really, really liked him.” Sasha's smile was wistful, look sad as she cast her gaze in her sister's direction. 

 

 

“Oh baby, I know,” Malia cooed softly, instinctively and protectively pulling the child whom she would always see as her baby sister into her lap. “But I promise you, you're gonna really, really like an awful lot of people in your lifetime. Save your energies for the ones who really, really like you back.”

 

 

“I thought that's what I did.” Her voice cracked, and Malia ran long, slender fingers – gentle and meticulous – through thick dark hair, knowing it always had a calming effect and made her feel better. “He told me he loved me.”

 

 

“Boys can be stupid. They never mature as fast as girls.”

 

 

“Mum said that, too.”

 

 

“Mum's right. About a lot more things than you may think, Sash. I know she can be overbearing at times, but you should always listen to her. She loves you, both of us, very much.”

 

 

“I know,” she said in concession. “I love her, too.”

 

 

“I know it seems like the end of the world now, but it isn't. This may be your first broken heart, but it won't be your last.”

 

 

“Gee, thanks, Malia. You're too kind.”

 

 

Laughter escaped and she snorted involuntarily at her sister's dry, sarcastic humor.

 

 

  
“What I mean is, there will be others – other firsts, more experiences, different people – and then someday when you think you've settled into your life, done all you can do, met all the people you thought you could possibly meet, some man – not a boy – will happen along and make you forget all about puppy love.”

 

 

“How'd you get to be so wise?”

 

 

“To be old and wise, we must first be young and stupid.”

 

 

Sasha cast dark eyes upward, locked them on her sister's face and exploded into uncontrollable laughter. “Pretty sure stupid people don't get into Harvard,” she said once she'd caught her breath.

 

 

“Can't argue with that.”

 

 

“Are you dating anyone from school?” Malia was so busy, Sasha hardly had more than a few sporadic moments to talk to her on any given day. Even then, those conversations were mostly text messages rather than calls.

 

 

“Kinda,” the eldest answered evasively.

 

 

“You're blushing!” Sasha squealed, eyes brightening considerably. “You  _are_ ! Who is he?!” 

 

 

“Shhh! God, keep your voice down! Mum and Dad don't even know yet!”

 

 

“Oooh! What's his name?”

 

 

“I'm not telling you anything.”

 

 

“Well  _that's_ not fair,” Sasha said in mock disgust. “You made me open my door and talk to you. You have to tell me  _something_ . Seriously, what's his name? I want to know.”

 

 

“Josh,” Malia relented, half smiling.

 

 

“Does he know you're a former president's daughter?”

 

 

“I'm not sure there's anyone in the country who doesn't know, love. But yeah, he knows. Most people I surround myself with don't care. He definitely doesn't. Meeting the right kind of people was a little difficult in the beginning, but you get better at scouting out the worthy ones over time.”

 

 

“Do you have pictures of this boy?” Sasha asked her.

 

 

“Duh. I'll show you later.”

 

 

“Do you like him enough to bring him home to Mum and Dad?”

 

 

Malia turned the question over in her head. “I think so,” she said. “Eventually.”

 

 

For the first time since she'd gotten home, Sasha noticed a change she couldn't quite pinpoint in her older sister, thought she looked really, truly happy. “Can I meet him?”

 

 

“Sure. I'll FaceTime with you when I get back to school.”

 

 

“I still say I need to come visit you.”

 

 

Malia's heart constricted realising just how much her sister had missed her. “You can do that too, as long as Mum and Dad say it's all right.”

 

 

“Does he treat you the way Dad treats Mum?” Sasha asked softly after letting silence fall and sit for a few long beats.

 

 

“Josh?”

 

 

“Mm.”

 

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” she said, smiling and starry eyed while her mind wandered again to how their relationship was progressing. Thoughts of the mature, articulate way in which he spoke to her and all the kind gestures he'd extended flooded it. “Why?”

 

 

“'Cause if he didn't,” Sasha responded, “I'd probably have to punch him in the face.”

 

 

“I'm supposed to be the protective one,” Malia laughed.

 

 

“Hey, I may be the baby, but I can put up a fight. Nobody messes with my sister.”

 

 

“You know you're still my favourite, right?” Malia winked.

 

 

“I'd better be.”

 

 

Silence blanketed them anew, for a longer stretch, neither sure exactly how much time had passed. Malia had resumed the gentle, methodical stroking of her sister's hair, and like a cat basking in springtime sun, she lay contented and allowed heavy eyes to slowly fall shut.

 

 

“Have you slept with him?”

 

 

Both the weight of the question and the disturbance of quiet caught the older of the two off guard. She'd believed her sister to be well on the way into the realm of deep slumber, nearly jumped upon finding that she wasn't.

 

 

“Sash...”

 

 

“I'm just asking,” she said quickly in defence. “I wouldn't tell anyone if you did, not even Mum.”

 

 

“I know,” she sighed. “No, I haven't yet.”

 

 

“You want to, though?”

 

 

“Eventually.” And that was the truth. She knew she liked him, was certain he liked her. Felt the seeds of new love sowing themselves, blossoming between, connecting them more deeply. She knew too, that all great things required – and deserved – time in order to be achieved. There was no rush. She'd been through the cycle of healing a broken heart more than once. Sometimes at the hands of a boy, sometimes at the hands of life itself.

 

 

“I hope he doesn't break your heart,” Sasha mumbled, so softly that Malia almost didn't hear.

 

 

“He won't,” she said with a smile, knowing this time would be different. Whether due to age or experience, she was unsure, but the mending of a broken heart would prove unnecessary here. She'd learned the difference between infatuation and love, crocodile tears and real ones; between a boy and a man.

 


End file.
